


conceited

by thefakeahnerds (Crwowrey)



Series: can't hold us down [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, F/F, F/M, Fake AH Crew, JUST, M/M, Multi, Other, everyone fucks each other at some point, genderbent, yeah.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-24 22:13:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3786169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crwowrey/pseuds/thefakeahnerds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The infamous Fake AH Crew meets a new rival - themselves. Unfortunately for their ego, these women are much better than they are at the whole 'criminal' thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. flawless - rian

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter is just all the fuckheads (minus the leaders) meeting up.

When you utter the words "I live in Los Santos" to any outsider, they're quick to ask "How?"; When you utter those five words to any outsider, they're quick to ask, "Isn't it scary?"; They're quick to say, "There are better places to live". I can't help but to laugh. It's not scary once you know how idiotic the 'crime bosses' really are, how reliant they are on drugs and alcohol in order to seem so threatening; Without these little things, they'd fall to their knees. Gennifer is like this. Most kingpins are, and are terrified without what gives them courage. With Gen, her superpower is her alcohol. A glass with breakfast, a glass with lunch, a glass with dinner, a shot before bed. It's almost painful to watch, but it hasn't killed her - or us - yet.

I sat across from her at breakfast and watched her fill her glass with bourbon. She looked stressed, more so than I've ever seen her. That was when I remembered - it's heist day. That, I think, explains Vina's cold demeanor. Said Brit sat at my side eyed the bourbon as a wolf would eye a sheep, a frown plastered on her lips. Stress vibrated off of everyone, which meant Team B wasn't safe. Down the hallway, Lindsey and Michaela were yelling at one another. Stress, stress. Stress that I wouldn't allow get to me. I rubbed my fingers along my mug, the ceramic clicking against my teeth when I brought it close enough. I took a deep breath; the scent of coffee filled my nostrils. Stress, meet comfort. "Babe," Gen murmured, taptaptapping my mug with her glass. I peer up, meeting the brown eyes with my gray ones. "Baby, don't forget to eat something. Can't survive on coffee alone,” she reached forward and stroked back my bangs. I shake my head and they move back into place.

"As you can' survive offa cheap alcohol alone," Vina huffed under her breath. Gen either hadn't heard her or chose to ignore the comment, which I was more than thankful for. I moved my hand to pat the girl's thigh in attempt at comfort and nodded in response. I would eat, eventually, but I wasn't hungry yet. The yelling was off-putting, but I'd of course live with it. Jacq could deal with it. My coffee, my Gen, my Vina, were all I could deal with right now. All three of which were doing nothing to improve my mood.  
***  
"Everyone remember what they have to do?" Gen prompted, once everyone - minus B-Team - had sat around the kitchen table. "I don't want to explain it again." Everyone said a monotone "yeah". Michaela sported a sour face, which stood out among the rest of our blank-slates; Our leader scowled right back at the woman. “Do you wanna stay home, or some shit? Too pissy to earn some dough?”

"Oh, fuck you, Gen." the not-quite-strawberry blonde snapped in response. We all shot her warning glares, faces twitching in concern for the woman. Her face changed at the look and her cheeks were stained with a color a little darker than her hair. "...Sorry, I guess. Can we just go?"

"After everyone tells me what they need to do when we get out there,” Gen knocked gently on the table with tattooed knuckles. “You first, since you volunteered."

Where's that bottle of bourbon? My fingers twitch and I shift uncomfortably in my seat. Not my kinda conflict.

"Fucking shit... Uh, I get the car, get stickies, pickup Rian at the store and put said stickies on said store."

"Good, good. Rian?"

Groaning, I answer, "Rob the fucking store."

"How are you gonna do that?"

"Go in, pretend to buy something, and pull the gun on the cashier.”

"And?"

I sighed. "There’s no point in taking out the camera, you know. We’re blowing the joint up."

“I was meaning using a deeper voice.”

“My point remains.”

"Why ain't anyone scared of ladies?" Vina pouted. "We're scary, ain't we? Why da we gotta use deeper voices t’be taken seriously?"

"Fuck, dude, we’re scarier than Rian in the morning, makes no sense to have to sound like dudes," Raya snorted; I kicked her under the table and scowled. "Hey!"

"Oh, my god. Gav, go."

"I go with Michaela!" The squawk-ish tone of her voice felt like daggers against my skin, whereas Gen seemed completely immune to such things.

"Correct. Raya?"

"I position myself on the opposite roof, in case someone comes out that isn't Ri." She stroked the pink sniper rifle, which slept peacefully on the tabletop.

"Jacq."

"I'm on standby in case someone gets hurt." The ginger beamed proudly and kiss-uppingly at our boss; Michael and Vina stick their tongues out at her. "Which will most likely be those two." A smirk sprouted on most of our faces when the both of them screamed their protests.

"But they're not even getting out of the fucking car," I prompt. As much as I hated the forms of conflict from our group, it was humorous when Vina and Kayla got pissy with me.

"My point exactly."

"Stunning. Now, stop being dicks and go get ready."

 

The heist would have been flawless, if not for that fuckhead that followed me in.

He was tall, but not too much taller than myself, and wore a similar jacket to my own. He asked me a simple "How's it going?" to me in line. I didn't respond with anything but a half-smile. "Not much of a talker, huh?"

"Not here to talk. Just here to buy my -" I looked at my hand " - tampons." Awesome. "Sorry."

"It's okay. I'm here for, uh... Chocolate." And of course, the chocolate bar was tossed between his hands.

I nodded, then turned away. I looked anywhere but back at him until "next!" was screamed by the fat Italian man behind the counter. I fiddled with the gun in my jacket as I stepped forward. "Hello, signorina. Ah, is it your little problem time again?" he joked; the man behind me and I scoffed. Each sound changed into either a grunt of surprise or annoyance when the gun was pulled out and aimed forward, towards the man's forehead. I ignored both and tossed my backpack onto the counter.

"Put the money in the bag or I'll put a bullet in your head." A pause. "Now." I turned momentarily to look at the man, glaring as I saw a small grin in response. "You too. Ticktock, dickbag.”

"Wouldn't you rather have my number?" He joked; he wasn't nervous.My glare hardened and I turned back to the Italian man, who was taking his dear sweet time putting the cash in the bag.

'Rian, what's taking so long?!' was shouted into the earpiece. ‘I got the stickies already, it shouldn’t take this fucking long.’

"Faster!"

"I do hear that so often from my moglie, signorina," the Italian chortled nervously. I cock the pistol and let the frustration change my face for me. "But I will hasten, I will hasten."

"You too, pretty boy. Faster."

The man dug in his jacket pocket for a moment, but it wasn't a wallet he pulled from it. The barrel of a nine-mil was pressed to my skull; his pistol cocked. "You stole my hit, girlie." he grunted. I huffed gently until I heard my bag zip up; my eyes remained forward yet past the shaking man. "Hand that to me."

"Sorry, but it's my hit. Maybe next time." I brought my foot up and slammed it into his junk. Poor guy. Poor guy's dick. I reminded myself that either way, he wouldn't be reproducing. Either he'd die in the explosion, or he'd have his brains blown out by Raya on the rooftop. I fired a shot into the cashier’s head, then ran out of the building, signaling for Michaela; she sprang from the car, stickies at the ready. I felt hands wrap around my elbows and tug me back against someone's chest.

"Next time isn't coming."

"Let'er go, fuckmouth! This doesn't concern you." Vina snapped. "Y'okay Ri-"

"What the hell are you doing, Ryan? We said no hostages!" Another voice rang out. A lanky redhead and a brunette with a large nose jumped from their own car.

"She stole our hit."

"Fuck you, it was my hit,” I spat back through gritted teeth.

"Fuck you, you took my hit."

My smirk, or what was left of it, faded into a deep frown as I attempted to struggle from the grasp. "Let me go!" His grip tightened and he lowered his head.

"Drop the cash and kick it to my friend over there," he grunted into my ear, lips grazing my skin. "And your friends won't get hurt. More importantly, you won’t get.” I grunted and squirmed again.

"Raya,” The Brit buzzed into each of our earpieces - her voice was higher than usual. “Couldja give Ri’s new lil’ friend a warnin’?”

‘I’d be happy to.’

The glass behind us shattered; we were both, obviously, used to this sort of thing, but we both jolted away at the sound. I took my opportunity to toss the bag to Vina, who tossed it in the backseat. “Maybe next time,” I shrugged nonchalantly; was my voice shaky? I hoped to God not. “If Vina’s feeling nice, maybe she’ll let you blow it up.”

"Y'got the money, let us make things go boom." the long-nosed man - British, too - squawked.

"No can do, sugah," Vina squeaked back. "As she said, s'our hit. If it makes ya feel any better, we'll let you hit the button." Michaela laughed at this, then began her work of planting a sticky bomb in each

"...Fine." He turned, talking away into what I can only assume was his earpiece.

I spoke into my own with a sigh, "Sorry for the holdup, Gen. Fuckbuckets are bothering us."

'Fuckbucket? That's new.' She responded, also with a sigh. 'Just hurry the fuck up. Push them into the building and blow it up.'

"Too many of them. Effort." I turned back to the other women. "Let's go! We don't have time for this."

"You guys have one minute to clear the area," Michaela warned. Her voice became muffled after I slammed the car door behind me. More glass shattering and the stinging of pain in my thigh. I registered a scream that rang through the air - was it mine?

"Ray, we called it off!" Ryan shouted. "Shit, you dumb jackass!"

 

I pressed my hands into my thigh, which was already stained crimson from blood. Glass shimmered in the artificial light of the streetlamp, some of the shards were starting to stain with a familiar shade of red.

"Holy fuck, are you alright?" A familiar voice asked. Jacq had rushed from the opposite building, where Gen had stationed her early on, and had swung the door open. "Where are you hit?"

"Just... Just my thigh." Am I panicking? Is this what panicking feels like? Shit, shit, shit.

"Are you sure it's just your thigh?"

"The other cuts and shit...That's from glass." From then on, it was nothing but a slew of yelled curse words from both me and my teammates; maybe a few from the other team itself.. Raya was screaming - in my ear - about the other sniper. She was apologizing for not seeing him sooner, apologizing for not gunning him down first. I bit my tongue and squeezed the man who had also run over - Ryan’s - hand tightly as he, too, apologized. Little did I know the shitstorm that would arise from these jackasses...


	2. stormy - ryan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan thinks of the girl from the heist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw// rape mention

If you need to know one thing about the city of Los Santos, know that it was and continues to be the shitiest town in California. It’s filled with prostitutes, rivaling gangs, car theft, rape, murder, drugs, kidnappings, all within our little island city.

I paced the length of my bedroom. Given that yes, it was three in the morning and no, no one was actually sleeping, I at least tried to keep my outward thinking to a minimum. I was pissed, yeah, about the whole fucking thing. I mean, we lost money on that heist after those chicks stole it right out from under us. I was annoyed that I was getting the blame for this. I was pissed that even though we told him we were going home, Ray had to go and try to assassinate the bitch. I was just glad I didn’t get blamed for that.

I could hear the TV blaring from the living room with some boring old newscast, until the words “rival gangs” and “explosion” catch my attention. My door opened and I peeked my head out to hear whatever it was.

“Did they recover the security footage?” a man, who I could identify as Rich Richman, asked in his too-fake worried tone. “I wanna see the bastard who shot the poor guy behind bars. Rotting in prison may do some good.”

“Actually, they think it could be a female.” Fauna Mayweather stated. “The security camera across the street showed that both females and males at the scene of the crime.”

“No woman would pull the trigger on a poor Italian cashier. It had to be one of the guys.”

I pictured the blonde girl, Ri, at her own home, screaming at the TV, at Rich Richman and his toupee. She was probably sitting in pajamas, with some sort of animal curled up in her lap as she watched this bullshit of a newscast. I couldn’t help but laugh.

“It’s more than plausible that a woman pulled that trigger!” Fauna argued; she was famous for her constant arguments with that dickbag. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I mean, wouldn’t she have, like, thrown up at the sight of blood and brains? Maybe even the thought of doing that to someone?”

“That’s bullshit,” I groaned out. “Why are you watching that sexist shit?” I stood in the hallway, peering out to look at whoever it was on the couch. There sat Geoff, an angered look plastered across his face and a beer in his hand; I chewed the inside of my cheek and frowned.

“It’s entertaining to see newscasters debating which gender is actually capable of homicide,” he drew out a long sigh before he took an equally long swig. “And them talking about your fuckup.”

“Ray fucked up. I didn’t fucking shoot her.”

“You should have! Then you would’ve got the money and we wouldn’t have to worry about fuckin’ rival gangs.” Another swig. “What is this, like… West Side Story?” A - very drunken - giggle.

“When you’re a Jet, you’re a Jet all the way.”

“Literally shut the fuck up.”

“Sir, what do you know about, uh… Those girls.” I inquired. The blonde girl with the candy lips and piercing eyes stared at me from her spot in my mind. She hadn’t left, not in the two days since I’d met her. Dreams, daydreams, nightmares, she was there. I wondered if it was the same for her.

“Jack diddly squat,” he replied, his lips turning up into a cold smile. “But that blonde girl Ray shot? Wouldn’t mind getting to know her.” I frowned, but nodded. I understood, I did, but I didn’t like that look. He looked, I dunno, perverted? It was the best verb I could think of at that moment. “Maybe the British one that ordered the warning shot. She’s, like, the Lolita type.”

“She’s, like, twelve.” I mocked his tone. God, that’s a disgusting thought. She was so goddamn young, why would he think that’s okay to say? “She looks twelve, at least.”

“Still. Not bad, either of them.”

I thought it over - what was it that they called one another? The British girl, they called her Vina. Their sniper was Raya, and the blonde was called Ri. Our British boy was called Gav. Our sniper was Ray, and the blonde…. ish one, is me. “It’s… Kinda weird that we’re all named literally the same thing, just a little different.”

“Wh-.. Meh. You’re lookin’ too deep int’things, beebee.” Swigswiggiggleswig. “C’mon, goober. Getcher butt to bed. Maybe sleepin’ll do ya some good.” He drew out the “uh” in “good”. I pushed back from the wall, which had long-lost its cool-and-calming factor, and turned around with a “good night, sir” and the sound of my door shutting to fill what little silence there was left.

A cool breeze shifted in through my open window, in front of which I sat down and opened one of the beers I’d abandoned on the desk this past weekend. I tapped through each playlist on my phone - totalling over fifteen of them - and clicked on the one titled “Slow Down”. Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata played slowly, sweetly, through the speakers and I closed my eyes. In, out, in, out, cold, colder. The brisk air filled my lungs and swirled around a bit - just a bit - until it was exhaled in its own swirl of steam. It felt good. It felt so good. No more thinking of the candy-lipped, stormy-eyed-- goddammit, again? Fucking shit. She looked so goddamn beautiful. Ri. Ri something. Ri the Stormy-Eyed. Ri. I took a deep breath and leaned my head backwards. Her blonde hair was glistening under the streetlamp, her red nails dug into my skin as one of the crewmembers dug through her thigh muscle to get the bullet. She cursed at me, she scratched my skin and ended up gripping my own thigh. Her dainty hand was powerful, and tense. She was all anger and rage. At the store, though, she was calm and collected. She knew her way around a robbery, around a gun, around hostile situations. She got herself out of having a gun pointed to her fucking head. A tightness formed; I grit my teeth and took a drink.

 

The next morning, or whenever it was that I finally woke up, everyone was rushing around. I heard yelling - Michael, probably - and Ray doing his best to get that shitty lighter of his to work. “Is Haywood up yet?” Jack - I think it was Jack - yelled from down the hallway, awaiting someone, anyone, to answer. I called back with just a loud sound that could be construed as a ‘yes’ and tumbled off my bed. The clock on my wall read only 8:30AM, we’re never up by then. Shuffling down the hallway, I look at the crowded-around table and took a seat.

“Early morning?” I grunted, scowling up at our exhausted leader. “Why?”

“You’re gonna go find those girls and have a nice chitchat with them. Y’know the warehouse we were planning on hitting? Gone.”

“Waitwaitwait. They blew it up? Really?” Jack quirked a brow and blinked.

“Hell the fuck yeah they did.” The mustache twitched above his lip when he brought his cup of coffee to them and sipped. “You guys find them and arrange a meeting. I’d love to know how they’re getting our hits before we do.”

"They probably know the city better," Lindsay offered up. Her perch on Michael's lap only hid that fact that he was snoozing peacefully. "I don't know what other reason there could be, Geoff."

"We get it out of them, the easy way or the hard way."

"We're talking about four-plus girls with some good-as-fuck experience, man. The blonde one kicked Ry in the dick faster than he could pull the trigger." I squirmed at the thought and glared at Lindsay. "Sorry, but it's true. They probably know the city pretty well." She shrugged and dropped her green-eyed gaze to the wood table, scratching equally-green nails against the grain. 

"Or maybe Ry just got distracted by how bloody hot she was." Bird-man added. 

"Gav?" 

"Yeah, Ry-Bread?"

"You wanna keep that tongue of yours?"

"...I do."

"Then shut the fuck up."


	3. meetings - rian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> morons, all of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw// rape mention

I never wanted to see that stupid smile ever again.

I’d spent the last two days - and would spend at least three more - nursing my leg and as a result was stuck at home while the others fucked around and got our money. I was home alone yet again when a knock came from the door. I ignored it, expecting whoever it was to just go away when they thought no one was home. More knocks came, and the urge to open it grew, just to get them to go away by telling them to. One knock, two knock, and I opened it before the third one had hit the door. There stood Ryan, fist raised like he was about to knock again, with a growing smile on his lips. “The hell do you want?”

“Boss wants to meet with you all.” He put his hands down and into his pockets; he looked bashful, like that damn skunk from Bambi. “Against protocol of our crew, but he says it’s urgent.” Urgent. That’s what they all said. It’s urgent. You must come now. It’s urgent, and then BANG, you’re dead; I stare blankly at him. “...Okay, I understand I sound like someone who’s about to kill you, but I’m not. I promise. We’re not gonna kill any of you. We just… Need to talk about shit.”

“... No one’s here right now.”

“Oh. Could I-... Uh, I’ll come back later.” He offered a painfully awkward smile and he turned right back around.

I waited for him to reach the end of the deck, further away from the front door itself (which all of us found as a flaw in the house’s design) before I said, “You could come wait inside, if you want. Just don’t… Don’t touch anything, or I’ll shoot your hand off.” I opened the door wider and waited until he was closer to offer out my hand. “Gimme your weapons.” He obliged with very little hesitation, much to my surprise but comfort. I gently ran a hand over the nine-mil, then the blade of the dagger.

“Smaller arsenal than you thought, huh?” He chuckled, nervously.

“Want something to drink?” I motioned for him to step him, then limped my way into the kitchen. I set the weapons on the counter and opened the fridge. “We got beer, apple juice, and -” I brought the milk to my nose and gagged; it smelled like the dumpster outside of Leather and Chrome, a bar we frequented. “Not milk.”

“Apple juice, I guess,” he sighed. “Gotta drive.” He rapped his knuckles on the island, which he happily slid into.

“Uh-huh.” Two glasses of apple juice; I gave myself the bigger glass and handed the other back to him. I’m not and never have been a fan of long silences, so I asked, “So, uh… What’s your Crew like? You close?”

“Relatively. We’re all… Well, we’re pretty close. We love each other, but we get on each other’s nerves roughly,” he paused and looked up, lips pursed in thought. “Eighty-percent of the time?” I simply nodded and took a drink. He, meanwhile, slid his glass from one hand to the other, eyeing the deep yellow of the juice. He may have been thinking of how pee-like it seemed, or ‘When do I grab my gun?’. “How’s your leg?”

Or none of those things. “It’s alright, I guess. Hurts like a fucker, but that’s what happens when some bonehead on a roof shoots you,” I exhaled deeply, dramatically, and looked at his face. Smudges of black and red paint brought out blue eyes - and this will sound completely cliche - had the green of seaweed swimming near the black abyss of his pupil. “Sorry for clawing your hand.”

"No, no, it’s fine.” We passed one another a look, then an awkward-sort of smile. “Besides, I deserved that. Don’t tell my boss, though.”

“I’ll have to think about that.”

“Dude.” I laughed quietly, but it was masked by the door slamming against the wall as it swung open. Gen was a mess of whimpers and panicked expressions, cradling Vina as she rushed in. “Ri, g-get Jacq’s medkit from her room, now!”

“Why the fuck are you here?” Michaela screamed at the man, once I was clear down the hallway and digging around Jacq’s medicine cabinet. Makeup bags, old medkits, everything was practically stuffed into that goddamn cabinet! I heard Ryan respond, but it was too quiet to make out just right. I frowned at that, and at the fact that her newer medkit was nowhere to be seen. A black bag with the closest date (March, ‘15) sat daintily on the toilet and I grunted. Stupid thing is always in plain sight, isn’t it? I grabbed it and did the best I could to get down the hallway with tripping or collapsing as the pain in my thigh escalated.

After I’d handed it off, I turned to find Gen. She was in the kitchen with, you guessed it, her bottle of bourbon open and at the ready to be poured. She didn’t respond until I had to prompt her again. “What happened?” I murmured, switching my gaze between Ryan and my own leader.

"She got stabbed by the, uh, the one dickhead that’s been following us,” was her response, between drinks.

"The one from San Andreas? How did he know where you guys were hitting?”

“I don’t… I don’t know, kid. I don’t. Go…” She stopped there, having already brought the bottle to her lips. She was an infant to a bottle of formula, which simply meant no more talking. I turned back to the group, the sight of a shirtless Ryan holding the hand of a bloody Vina meeting my gaze. I must have looked like he’d stabbed her himself because he raised a brow and told me they were out of gauze, and to calm down; my expression shifted to one of worry, so I moved it to Jacq. Jacq was an artist with both a scalpel and a suture needle, and no matter what, was always calm when fixing one of us up. We all realized that if we ever lost her, we were absolutely and definitely fucked. I became a blank-slate again and watched carefully.

I ended up having to lend Ryan one of my shirts. It was obvious he wasn’t gonna get that shirt back, and I wasn’t getting the one I gave him back. I didn’t care, it was just a sleepshirt. I could easily buy more. I told him not to bother giving it back, anyway. He didn’t owe me anything, since it was just a stupid t-shirt. We sat out on the porch for awhile, smoking (I mentally make a note that quitting would be, in fact, a good idea) and just talking. We talked about our crews and the similarities, which had managed to freak both of us out; we talked about our pasts (I was very thankful when he told me that he was not a former prostitute with a debt hanging over his head - I would have pissed myself). He asked about my parents, about my siblings (an older sister and a younger brother), all that boring get to know you shit. “Might as well know my enemy,” he’d joked. I’d smiled and nudged him hard enough for him to fall on his side. “It’s true! I mean, I guess it’s true.”

“Ryan,” Gen’s voice called, and both of us turned. “Not you, Ri, him. Tell your boss we’ll have to postpone our meeting, unless he wants to come here. Vee is in no shape to travel.”

He sighed and raked a tobacco-scented hand through his hand. “I’ll call and see.”

“Make it quick.”

 

“So you’re the hot blonde,” Geoff, their leader, had a air about him that I found revolting. The smell of whiskey filled my nostrils with the breeze - were his clothes washed in the shit? - and I had to force down bile that had arisen. I took my seat between Raya and Ryan, but kept my gaze on Geoff. "Sorry you got shot.”

“It’s whatever.”

"We’re not here to discuss Ray shooting Rian,” Ryan’s voice is professional, detached and even. At the confused looks from his crew, he rolled his eyes and stated, “That’s her name, dipshits.” Loud ‘oh’s echoed off the kitchen walls, which I nodded slowly to. “We’re here to discuss the jobs. You guys doing jobs that we’ve spent months planning.”

“Yeahyeahyeah,” Geoff began, sipping from a flask similar to Gen’s. “Genevieve - isn’t it Genevieve? - how do you know when and where are hits are gonna be, huh? Gotta a spy, or somethin’?” As he said this, he looked around and eyed everyone a little too carefully.

"Well, Geoffrey, we don’t take ten months to plan our jobs. We execute the plan after it’s reasonable and safe.”

“Then why have two of your members been wounded on heists in the past four days alone?”

“Rian’s injury was your sniper’s fault. Vee’s injury was a result of another group.”

“San Andreas.” Jacq added.

“You guys don’t like them either? Small world.”

“They’re dicks.” I glared at Gen. “Sorry. Ri’s younger brother is on that crew. She’s very protective of him.”

“What’s his name?”

“Mark. Mark Castor.”

Ray, who I could assume was their sniper what with the apologetic glances toward me, perked up. “You’re Mark’s sister?”

“...Yes?”

“He talked about you non-fuckin’-stop. We used to hang out a lot, before we- He talked about his beautiful older sister Jamie.”

My eyes widen and I could feel my mouth gaping open. I stared past, not at, the sniper across the table and imagine my brother. My parents had adopted him when I’d turned three. He was two, and not very talkative. Out of the three of us, I always said the most, believe it or not. Mark was a sweet kid, he really was, until he joined Aaron Alair and his ragtag team of rapists and murderers.

“Ri. Earth to Jamie. Jamie Rian.” A voice I recognized as the idiot beside me pierced my thoughts and brought me back to the kitchen table. “You okay?”

“No.”

“We didn’t know that you guys had hits planned on any of the places we went, okay?” Michaela directed the attention elsewhere; I was surprised by the calmness in her voice. “But maybe you really should hit places sooner, if you’re so worried someone else is gonna take it. Chances are that we will take it, if you don’t pick up your paces."

“Chances are that the next time you take our hit, you won’t get a warning.”

"Is that a threat, Geoffrey?” Gen said cooly, head tilting back and to take in all of the drunk bastard in a poorly-tailored tux. “Because if it is, I’ll take my chances with you and these… Interesting men.”

“You’ve already got one bitch shot by us -”

“Watch it, Ramsey.” Ryan growled.

"-and we won’t hesitate on making it another. Got it?”


	4. number - ryan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May I have your number?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a shorter chapter, but vital. It matters later on.

Stress was overabundant and the last thing we wanted was to spend more money.

But it may have been the only way for us to relax. Leather and Chrome is full of horny women and cheap booze. I, usually, don’t go either of these things, just to watch shitheads one and two get drinks poured down their fronts. It’s more Geoff than it is Gavin, and that brings me joy. The fucker was once suave and real good with the girls, you see, and to see him sink so low as to hardly even say some shitty pickup line before a drink is splashed in his face. It got even funnier when he turned and there was Gen.

“Hey, baby, are you - Gen?”

"The one and only." She gave a cool smile and tilted her head; Compared to her, Geoff was quite literally a drunken moron.

“What… Are you doing at… here? S’our territory," he slurred; I hold back a laugh.

“We don’t own the goddamn bar, they’re welcome here,” I said, then waved at the head of their group; she waved back and offered a warm smile. “‘Sides, it’s nice to see some familiar faces.”

“How sweet,” Michaela (I remember her screaming at me) gagged and tightened her grip on her boyfriend’s - no, husband’s; I found the ring later on - arm.

Gen seemed not to hear her (or was ignoring her). “Know any good spots to watch this dick get drinks splashed in his face?”

“Uh, just about anywhere. Dude hits on anything with a pulse, including - but not limited to - himself.” With an icy glare, he made an attempt at whacking my glass from my hand, managing only to (lightly) whack my chest; I couldn’t help but to grin. He, simply and angrily, grunted and staggered back into the crowd. When he was a ways away, I muttered, “It’s good to see you ladies again.”

“And it’s a pleasure to see you,” Raya - or was it Rayanna? - smirked teasingly as she looked between the blonde at her side and myself. “How about a drink?”

The group of women (and two quiet men) dispersed and all went seperate directions. The girl with the high-pitched voice, Vina, scooted her way to the “dance floor” - a dark oak plank flooring with flashy multicolor lights - where she and Gav began their discussion; two birds, one pitch.

“So, Ryan,” Ri’s voice tugged me back in her direction. Her stormy eyes are brighter tonight, with help from some smoky eye makeup. “Wasn’t aware that you guys came here.”

“Neither was I.”

“I heard, from Gen, you all were low in money. Leather and Chrome isn’t a bar for the poor,” she turned the bartender and uttered the name of a drink I’d never heard of. “Two Starstruck Goose Cocktails and one - what is it you’re having, Ryan?”

“Uh, Jameson Whiskey?”

“And one whiskey, neat.”

“You got it, gorgeous.”

She turned back and smiled sweetly; her candy lips were the same shade of pink they were when we first met. We didn’t say much, not until Rosa had grabbed her drink and sauntered off to god-knows-where. “Your leg doing any better?”

“Huh? Yeah. Mr. Ray over there bought me a buncha chocolates, since he felt bad.”

“I could see that; he buys flowers for the widows of police officers we kill.”

“Raya does the same,” she nodded, giggling. “Both of them are too sweet, too precious for this world."

“Where do you fit in this world?” I prompt, raising a brow and taking a drink.

“I’m the older sister who yells at everyone -” a pause to drink “-for touching her things.”

“No one knows how to keep their hands to themselves,” I added. I remembered her past, the way she described it. It haunted her, that I could tell, but she wouldn’t let it show. For the little time I knew her, I could tell she was a strong woman. She didn’t need anyone’s help unless she was on the verge of death, but even then maybe not. I gave her a gentle nudge. She staggered for a moment, so I grabbed her sides to keep her, at least, upright. “Sorry, sorry. Just meant to get your attention.”

She wasn’t angry like I thought she would be, she was laughing. Half her drink had spilled on the counter, which was a shame, but she hardly seemed to notice. “Jackass,” she eventually giggled out, nudging right back.

"Are you okay?" I paused, then added "Punkass" for good measure.

“I lost my balance and was on my way to steadying myself, Mr. Hero.” At this, I huffed; she mocked me and donned an over exaggerated pout. “I'm fine. Anyhow, what’s your role in this world?”

“Cranky dickhead that likes blood, guts, and chocolate cake.”

“Blood, guts, and chocolate cake, huh?...Wanna go dance with me, cranky dickhead?”

We danced together, but we didn’t touch. We stood across from one another and danced. It felt like that scene in Pulp Fiction. You know, the one with Uma Thurman and John Travolta? Complete, comfortable silence. We leaned forward, slowly at first, eyes falling shut, but we didn’t kiss. Our lips stayed apart, not touching, never touching, but it felt just the same. We spent hours dancing together, occasionally returning to this position for a few moments, but as everything does, it ended. We did end up touching, just a little hand-graze when we handed each other scribbled out versions of our phone numbers. When I looked at it later that night, she scribbled a small heart beside her name.

 


	5. failure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michaela has had it pretty fucking rough in this line of work, and it just got worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's short, but i'm also not????

If you ask me, Gen was the most conceited, arrogant, stupid, conniving bitch in the entire fucking universe. Forever fucking butting in on everyone else’s everything. Forever drunk off her fucking ass. Forever giving me a goddamn headache. And worst of all? Forever getting someone fucking killed. It was not supposed to end this way. This was all her fucking fault, her and her inability to stay at least semisober for one goddamn night.

 

It started that night after we’d left the bar. Lins and I were hand in hand, him driving and me in the passenger seat. A drunken Gen sat blabbering in the back to Ri and Raya, who ignored her and instead talked idly of the boys they’d had the pleasure of dancing with that night. “You guys looked like you were gonna kiss, like, ten times,” Raya prompted.

 

“It’s more fun to tease them than anything, really.” Rian sighed. “Besides, Gen might’ve bust a cap in his ass for any sort of contact.”

 

“You’re damn skippy.”

 

“But I’m seeing him this weekend.”

 

“You’re damn… not skippy.”

 

Rian sighed again. “I’m allowed to see him, aren’t I?”

 

“Nnnnnnope. No way no how are you seein’ that blue-eyed son of a… enemy.” Hiccup. Hiccup. “They’re no good, an’ I don’t trust him.”

 

“He saved Vina’s life,” I reminded. True, he’s in a rival gang and true, he put a gun to Ri’s head, but he also saved Vina. And apologized for being a big dick. “It’s not like they’re gonna fuck, or anything.”

  
“Y’never know with a former slut.”

 

Lindsey slammed his foot on the brake at the word, eyes wide. We all jolted forward, Gen’s face smacking into the back of my seat. She deserved it. Ri’s former life was hardly ever brought up, and when it was, no one would call her the s-word. She’d suffered enough, and facing ridicule from her current boss? Too fucking far. “Apologize, Gen, right now.”

 

I looked at Rian, an expression of anger and betrayal a cocktail on her face. The blush she’d been wearing since she’d gotten away from the moron with the same name had faded, replaced by the pale anger. “She’s drunk, it doesn’t matter.”

 

“Not gonna, anyways. S’the truth. Lil’ slutty Jamie.”

 

“Gen, stop it.”

 

“Stop what? Bringing up th’fact our favorite little skeleton is a… is a prostitute?”

 

“Was a prostitute, mind you.”

 

“Whateeeeeever. It doesn’t matter. Same thing.” Her attention diverted from our angry air to the window. “Oh loook, it’s your boyfriend.” A lazy hand flopped beneath the seat, grabbing for what-- a gun. A gun is pointed at the back of Lindy’s head. “Go after ‘em.”

 

Lindy’s green eyes flickered towards our boss, nervous and unsure. He was angry still, yeah, but she had a gun. He wasn’t not going to listen to her. No one else had brought their guns, so there was no arguments from anyone else. Tensity replaced the anger in everyone, including myself. I didn’t want to risk her shooting him because I badmouthed her. It wouldn’t come to that, I promised myself.

 

I wasn’t the one who lost my cool. Or lost my grip on the gun. I didn’t ask, and I couldn’t. I tasted blood and that’s all my tongue could take, other than the screaming. I wasn’t the only one, it was obvious, the other two were. Lindy’s head rested haphazardly against the wheel, the horn blaring its own scream of discomfort, or something equally poetic. Pink brains and red blood were splattered across the windshield, which made it all the more harder to take control over the vehicle from a dead man’s grip; screaming and utter distraughtness only made it worse. I felt on the verge of exploding, and it was apparent with my spew of curse words and angry sobs. Somehow, through all of this, we managed to come to a stop in some parking lot.

 

Doors opened, the sound of retching filled the night air. Maybe it was me, I didn’t remember. I do remember the sound of heavy footfalls getting closer, lighter ones getting further. I looked up, and there was no more Gen. Ryan and one of his friends had, apparently, pulled over, too. Part of me was thankful for that, while part of me was screaming for them to go away. They weren’t friends, or family, or anything. They didn’t deserve to see us like this, this angry or upset or sick or whatever it was that we were all feeling at that moment.

 

Lindy was on the blacktop when I looked up again. Their crew stood around mumbling in worried, hushed tones. Jacq and Raya and gone off to search for Gen, Rian had muttered to me. “You blacked out,” she told me.

  
I glanced again at my husband, my dead husband, and responded, “I wish I didn’t wake up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major Character Death! So soon, you ask? SO SOON, I SCREAM.

**Author's Note:**

> If you hadn't guessed, Raya and Ray had met on the rooftop after Rian had gotten shot.


End file.
